


Breaking Open

by Vera (Vera_DragonMuse)



Series: Alliterative Domiciles [9]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-20
Packaged: 2017-12-12 11:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/811192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera_DragonMuse/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint leaves his body open for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Open

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crazy4Orcas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy4Orcas/gifts).



> Written for Crazy4Orcas for the AO3 Fundraiser.

He left his body open for her.  Their hours were irregular, their jobs unpredictable and their habits a messy collection of tics. So Clint slept on his back with one arm flung wide. Often he woke still alone, stirred by some minute noise or a stray ray of sun slipping past blackout curtains. Sometimes though, that stirring or flash were the faint warning of her arrival. She would slip beneath the blankets, her hand coming to rest above his heart and her head on the plane of his chest. 

“Hey.” He would say softly because pretending that she hadn’t woken him would be a farce. “Ok?” 

“Yes.” She would reply, a yawn stretching her lips. Or “No.” Her face tilted up for a kiss. 

Natasha had always been the self-sufficient type, tending to her own needs, wounds and wants. When they became partners, she adjusted in uneven increments, refusing to cede her autonomy. Clint hadn’t meant to change her. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe in her infinite complexity, Natasha had changed herself. Either way, she was different now. She let him provide comfort, conversation and a warm bed. She sought out his company for no other reason than the pleasure of sharing an interesting article or a bit of fruit or a sunny afternoon. 

“You’ve changed too.” She told him on a park bench in Rome when he told her what was on his mind.  

“I have?” He looked down at his hands, wide and broad and calloused. The same as last week and the week before that. 

“You’re more yourself.” 

“How so?” 

“You perfected a casing of yourself. Like you, but impenetrable.” She kicked one foot idly, sending a pebble skittering across the pathway. “Now, it’s cracking. Shattered. Forgotten.” 

“You’d think I’d notice something that violent.” 

“It wasn’t violent.” She reached out, crossing the ravine between them to link their fingers together.  “Water can destroy the greatest wall given enough years to wear it gently away.” 

“When did you get to be a philosopher?” He teased.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think.” Her shrug was nearly imperceptible, the rise and fall of one winged bone. “I need you to buy me a dress.” 

“Were those two ideas related?” 

“No. I thought we were done with that conversation. Did you have more to add?” 

“No.” He worked to repress a smile. “Why do you need a dress?” 

“Tony’s next gala.” 

“The one for the Children of Manhattan?” 

“So he says. It’s actually more like a reception for the paper signing he’s doing that afternoon.” 

“They’re finally going through with that?” 

“They are. I’m not sure how legally binding it would all be if they were anyone else, but Pepper put a phalanx of lawyers on it. I’m surprised it’s stayed out of the news.” 

“I’m not.” He leaned back, turning his face up to the sun. “Pepper has a genius for the press. She’s been leaking photos of her and Tony’s home life to all the rags for the past two weeks. They’re so busy gobbling up that shit that they’ll miss the real event.” 

“That’ll keep Bruce happy. You know how much he hates a fuss.” She tugged a crease out of her shirt.  “Pepper said I should get something new for the event on her. I think she feels guilty that she couldn’t put me in the wedding party.” 

“You’d have hated being a bridesmaid.” 

“That’s what I told her, but I don’t think she can help it.” 

“So you want me to buy you a dress with an unlimited budget for a high end event.” 

“Yes.” She said grimly. “Is that a problem?” 

“No. How about this though: I’ll narrow it down to three and then you make the final verdict?” 

She weighed the deal in thoughtful silence, and then nodded, “As long as I don’t have to try it on until the fitting.” 

“Done. I guess I should get a new tux while I’m at it.” 

“Considering your last one was partially incinerated that would be the wise choice.” 

Clint didn’t get a chance to shop for another two weeks, hopping from job to job. He did have time to Google though and by the time he got home to New York, he had two appointments lined up at three top stores. 

“Won’t it be weird going to a woman’s store by yourself?” Steve asked when Clint announced his plans for the day over breakfast. 

“Less weird than trying to explain in a donkey show to the leader of a terrorist cell.” Clint shrugged. “After that, nothing really measures up.” 

“I did drag once.” Bruce offered as he poured syrup over his pancakes. “It took me a week to get all the makeup off.” 

“Cold cream.” Clint said sagely.   
“Did you shave your legs?” Steve leaned in to Bruce.  

“Uh.” Bruce squirmed under the attention. “I sort of had to? It was a very short skirt.” 

“Pictures or it didn’t happen.” Tony declared, coming in with his arms spread wide and then melting over Bruce. 

“You don’t even know what we’re talking about.” Bruce forked up a square of waffled and stuffed it into Tony’s mouth. “I’d go with you, but it’s not really my scene.” 

“I wouldn’t offer.” Steve flushed apparently just thinking about it. “Maybe you should take Pepper though.” 

“I can manage just fine on my own, thanks.” He slurped down the rest of his coffee. “I’m not afraid of a little lace and chiffon.” 

It turned out there was rather a lot of lace and chiffon, but Clint though he comported himself well all things considered.  In his line of work blending in was essential. To that end, he’d crafted a few personas and practiced until he could slip in and out of them at will. For the afternoon he became a slightly camp personal shopper. The sales teams took to his laid back flamboyance and drew out dress after dress for his inspection. At the third appointment, one of the women with something like Natasha’s build even agreed to model for him. 

He took pictures of a dozen gowns then spent a pleasant hour at a cafe narrowing it down to three with two baristas who kept drawing out their break to offer more opinions. Chad and Donna both asked for his phone number when he got up to leave. He gave them a twenty dollar tip instead. 

Natasha got back in a day later, joining him in an insomnia marathon of Godzilla movies. 

“I’ve got your choices whenever you want to look.” He told her as Tokyo got flattened for the third time.  

“Tomorrow.” She drew her leg over his and buried the tip of her nose in his neck. “Someone should make a movie where Godzilla wins. Gets to raise a family in a harbor somewhere and stomp everyone to his heart’s content.” 

“I think the budget for these is about five dollars. If you write a script, we can do it with things we find around Tony’s lab.” 

He didn’t know what she had chosen until the day of the gala when they stepped from the darkness of the limo into the flashing light of the crowd. The Grecian drape of the neck showed off more skin than Clint had imagined she’d be comfortable with. The golden froth of chiffon would have tripped up a normal woman or given a floating effect to a graceful starlet. On Natasha, it billowed out behind her like a conquering warrior’s cape. 

“Good choice.” He told her because comments about her beauty simply didn’t register with her anymore. 

“Mhm.” She rested her hand lightly on his arm, flashed a bright smile at a photographer. “It chafes. I should have worn underwear.” 

“Oh.” Clint said mildly, graphic movies playing out in the sticky floored theater of his mind. “Why didn’t you?” 

“The seamstress told me it would ruin the line.” She smoothed a hand down the side. “Unless I wore a thong. I hate thongs.” 

“Me too.” He said inanely. “Permanent wedgie.”  

“Save me.” Bruce elbowed in beside them, eyes wide. “Joan Rivers keeps asking me about my expandable pants. How much they can hold. If she can try them on.” 

“Bruce! Bruce!” Joan called and Bruce shuddered. Natasha took his arm and gave Joan her best shark’s smile.  “Black Widow! Who are you wearing?” 

“I’ve no idea. My partner picked it out. Who am I wearing?” She asked Clint. 

“Two of the best looking men in New York.” He took her other arm and they walked together into the gala, Bruce wiping sweat off his brow.  

Pepper was waiting inside, her sparkling white dress tight enough that it might have been painted on. Tony rotated around her like an erratic moon, bringing her drinks, gossip and bits of cheese. When they walked in, Tony collected up Bruce and herded him next to Pepper. 

“He’s a collie.” Clint whispered to Natasha and her left nostril flared in her quietest laugh.  

“They’re happy.” She observed, taking a long stemmed champagne glass from a passing waiter. 

Clint watched as Tony dipped Pepper into a lavish kiss despite her protests and Bruce’s hand sneaking to the small of her back when Tony righted her. They were all smiling and laughing, oblivious for once to the greater world around them.  The band started up and Pepper pulled Bruce onto the dance floor. Tony leaned against the bar, watching them with laser intensity. 

“Want to dance?” Clint offered Natasha his hand. 

“Can you keep up?” She swept the train of her dress up, a neat tuck that she must have had added.  

“Let’s find out.”  

She let him keep up, leading without ever moving her hand from its submissive position on his waist. They swept past other couples in a blur of crystals and bowties. Clint never relaxed his guard in public, but he found his eyes on her far more often than they should have been. She looked back, something like a smile around her eyes. 

“Do you think anyone would notice if we left early?” She asked and he spun her out, then in again until he could smell the sharp tang of lemon shampoo in her hair. 

 

“No.” He tapped his fingers against her spine. “Why? Do you have somewhere better to be?” 

“I want you to take me to bed. Our bed.” She looked up, the defiant arch of her nose not dimming the mirth of her smile. “You look as though I’ve slapped you.” 

“What’d you do to him?” Tony asked, whirling by with Pepper, who had gone red in the face from laughing. 

“Only what he deserved.” Natasha said mildly. 

“Why now? Why tonight?” Clint tried to bit his tongue, but the questions tripped out without his permission. 

“Why not?”  She leaned into him. “I like this dress. It’s a beautiful night. The mansion will be empty. I dreamed of it last night. What does it matter?” 

“Did you really dream about it?” 

She arched an eyebrow at him and he wasn’t sure if it meant ‘of course not, you fool’ or ‘yes, what of it?’, but either way, he let it go. 

“There’s a back exit. Do you want me to call the car around?”  

“No.” She slid her hand down his arm until their fingers tangled together. “I’ve taken care of it.” 

The car was already waiting as they slipped past the reporters. Natasha rucked up the skirt of the dress, flashing one thickly muscled thigh as she got into the back seat. Clint slid in beside her, heart racing. 

“This is weird.” He confessed, pouring them both glasses of champagne. It was a Stark car, a wet bar came standard. “I feel like a teenager all over again.”

“My first time was in a field.” She kicked off her heels and rested her bare feet in his lap. “I seduced a boy to get into his father’s house.” 

“Mine was under the stands of the circus.” He rubbed his thumb down the arch of one foot. “I was sixteen and she had crazy long hair and bright eyes. Michelle, I think her name was.” 

“I was scared.” 

“I was nervous.” 

Their admissions mingled together, a tangled thicket between them. 

When they got back to the tower, the elevator whisked them silently upwards. The doors opened on their floor, but before she could step out, an idea seized him. 

“The roof.” He suggested.

“I’ll meet you there in five. Bring something to eat.” She disappeared down the hall, dress still flaring gold and startling behind her. 

He put together a tray of dates, sweet cheese and crackers while shedding jacket, bow tie and vest. Under one arm he stuck a bottle of wine and grasped the glasses in his free hand.  

Natasha waited for him under the roses. They were in full bloom, massive red blossoms nodding on their stems.  The golden dress was gone, in its place a short silken bathrobe. She’d settled one of their workout mats on the ground though she stood reluctantly beside it. 

Clint set down his tray of food and the wine with its glasses.  

“Do you know what I thought the first time I saw you?” He asked, fingertips drifting over the smooth sleeve of her robe. 

“Oh God, oh God, I’m going to die?” She guessed wryly. 

“I was too stupid to be that worried.” He drew his lips over the hard line of her jaw. “I thought you were untouchable. Like one of those marble statues at the Met.”

“I was then.” She hooked her left foot around his ankle, a flirtation and a warning. 

He didn’t insult her by asking her if she was sure or treating her as though she were delicate. Though he did let her lead more often than not. There were very few surprises. Her body was known to him, in all of its pliable strength. He knew she would be quiet. He knew she would prefer to be on top, his hands anchored on her hips. He knew she would be fierce in some moments, gentle in the next as if she was unsure of where she wished to settle. 

He had not expected the soft rising note of her orgasm or the way she kissed him as if he could revive her from death. He hadn’t known that she would linger afterwards, unwilling to give up her seat even when he went soft inside her. 

“I don’t know this one.” She traced a hooked scar hidden by his pubic hair. 

“Climbing a barbed wire fence when I was a stupid fifteen year old.” 

He reached for the wine, just able to attain it without throwing her off.  He pulled the loosened cork out with his teeth and took a long draught before handing it to her. She sniffed the bottle then chugged down half of it, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Red droplets stood out against the cream of her skin. 

“I suppose I know all of you now.” She sank forward onto her elbows, studying his face. 

“Am I that simple?” He laughed and because he could, ran his palm over the tight curve of her ass. “I like think there’s a little more left for you to discover. I know I’ve got a lot left to find out about you.” 

“Do you really think so?” She shook her head, the tips of her hair brushing his cheeks. “You know the parts that matter.” 

He kissed her because he didn’t know what to say. They shared the food between them after that, licking at sticky fingers and chasing it all down with wine. Pleasantly dizzy, they lay down among the roses, the white wings of his shirt and the dark flutter of her robe keeping the first of the night’s chill from their bodies. 

“Regrets?” He asked, a rose petal falling lazily down to land on his knee. 

“What for?” She yawned, put her head on his shoulder. “We got here in the end and this is a good place.” 

Clint slept with his body closed around her and didn’t wake until the sun pierced through the roses.


End file.
